by Katie French
He sets his clipboard down. “Look, if you don’t, I’ll have to call the guards, and you don’t want that.”
“No, I don’t want that,” I murmur, trying to think. Should I jump him? He doesn’t have a weapon.
He strides toward me and I reach out to strike, but he snaps a handcuff on my wrist before I can twist away. He pulls me by my cuffed hand toward the exam table. I drag my feet, go limp, but he’s stronger than I thought. He cuffs my wrist to the metal loop at the end of the exam table. I sink to the concrete floor.
“This is ridiculous,” he says, panting as he stands over me. “I’m trying to help you.”
“If you wanted to help me,” I say, “you’d let me go.”
He glances away. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I ask, tugging against the metal cuff. It clangs with the solid sound of captivity. “Why help them?”
He sighs deeply and slumps down on the exam table. Up close, I can see dark bags under his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead. I took him to be an obedient lapdog, but maybe he’s not.
“If I don’t do this job, they’ll get some sadistic bastard in here,” he says, nodding toward the closed door and the hallway. “You think I like watching them get beaten, get…” He stops and shakes his head. “I take care of them.” He lifts green eyes to mine. “I’ll take care of you.”
The words hit me hard in the chest. Nada’s reassurances echo in my head. Maybe I’m just exhausted. Maybe I feel friendless, alone. But for some reason, when I look into the eyes of this bender, I trust him. Slowly, with one trembling hand, I tug up my shirt, revealing my bound breast. It’s a raw and desperate act, but I raise my eyes up to the bender’s, pleadingly.
“I’m a girl,” I whisper, my lips burning as the words slip over them. “I’m a girl and you have to help me keep that secret.”
Shock registers on his face as he stares, but that crumples into concern. “How—”
“The Breeders don’t want me,” I say, tugging my shirt back on. “It won’t do you any good to sell me back.”
Doc rubs a hand over his face and stands. “Lord Merek doesn’t sell women to the Breeders.” He walks over the desk and rummages for something under papers and files.
“What does he do with them?” I ask, standing up as much as my cuffed wrist will allow.
Doc looks at me, but says nothing. He pulls what he was looking for out of the pile of papers. A walkie-talkie.
“What’re you going to do with that?” I ask, pointing.
Doc thumbs down the receiver, and the walkie-talkie crackles to life. “Ben?” he says into it.
“Who’re you calling?” I ask, my voice shrill with fear. I strain against my cuffs again.
Doc says nothing. The walkie-talkie squawks in his hand. “Ben here. What d’you need? Over.”
“Don’t,” I say, pleading. “Don’t tell them.”
Doc pauses, the walkie-talkie close to his lips. “If I don’t tell them, they’ll kill me. I can’t hide something like this.”
I shake my head, looking around the room for hope, for salvation. Instead I see handcuffs, rubber gloves, instruments of torture and captivity. I drop my head. How could I have been so stupid?
“Nada said I could trust you,” I say, my voice pathetic. I hate it, but the walls inside me are crumbling. Whatever Lord Merek does with his women, it can’t be good.
“What did you say?” Doc asks, lowering the walkie-talkie. “Nada?”
I bite my lip, remembering I wasn’t supposed to speak her name. “No, I—”
“You said Nada.” Doc takes a step toward me. “You know Nada?”
I look into his face. Slowly, I nod. “I freed her from a trader.”
Doc’s face contorts. He blows out a deep breath and sets the walkie-talkie down on the desk.
A loud pounding on the doors makes us both jump. A guard’s voice yells from other side of the door. “What’s going on in there?”
Doc jumps up and fumbles in his pocket. He produces keys that he uses to unlock my cuffs. When he’s close to me, he leans down and whispers frantically in my ear, “You have to choose and choose fast. I can tell them you’re a bender and we can try to keep this a secret. It’ll mean hard labor, but I can try to keep you safe.” His eyes find mine. They’re kind, soft. He means it.
“What’s the other choice?” I ask.
“I tell them you’re a woman. You might become one of Lord Merek’s wives. The life is easy compared to hard labor. But you’d have to do your wifely duty—”
The guard pounds again. “Wrap it up!”
“Do my wifely duty?” I ask, flicking my eyes to the door.
Doc chews his lip, standing up and stashing the handcuffs. “Choose.”
The door handle begins to turn. What should I do? Try to hide my gender and work on the line, or take my chances as a wife? I think of the gold ring around my neck, the weight of it. Clay. I can’t be someone else’s wife.
“Bender,” I whisper as the knob opens, but I’m not sure Doc hears me. The guard stomps in, his baton out.
“Thank God,” Doc says, frustration in his voice. “This one was giving me a hell of a time. Noncompliant.” He blows out a breath. “I tried calling you.”
The guard blushes. “Was out back for a minute.”
“Well, we’ll keep that between you and me if you do something for me.” Doc laces his fingers together and raises an eyebrow.
The guard nods. “Sure. What is it?”
“Teach this one a lesson,” he says waving a dismissive hand at me. “He thinks he’s special.”
It feels like a slap. I turn to Doc, my jaw slack. What is he doing? The guard grabs my arm and yanks me toward him. “Okay,” he says, pulling out his baton. “How many you want? Ten? Twenty?”
“Five should suffice,” Doc says, turning away from me. “Oh, and do it over the shirt. He needs to be able to work in the morning.”
“Five lashes coming right up.” The guard tugs me away. I’m too stunned to fight back. Why is he doing this?
“I thought we could trust you!” I scream as the guard drags me out the door. Doc says nothing. He doesn’t even look up as I’m dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the room.
The other benders watch dully as I’m pulled past them. I flail and kick. As I’m pulled through the door, I lock eyes with Nada. I hope my look says, You were wrong. I hope it says, Don’t trust him.
They throw me into the dirt face down. When I get up to my hands and knees, the first blow from the baton catches me just below the shoulder. It’s like one hundred tiny knives separating my flesh. I crumple into the dirt, tears filling my eyes. I won’t cry. I won’t.
Lash two is harder than the last. Lash three harder still. By lash four I’ve broken my promise. I sob like a baby.
Chapter 5
Clay
I wake up with a crick in my neck bigger’n a barn and my mouth as dry as dust. For a minute the jostling and bumpin’ makes me think I’m in the truck with Riley. But then memory of last night smacks me upright. My eyes light on my cuffed wrists in my lap, then on my captor.
Nessa sits in the driver seat of the Jeep, her orange hair flutterin’ out of its clip. Her eyes locked on the road, she doesn’t notice I’m awake. I don’t move a muscle. I want to take it all in before she can paint her bullshit all over it.
It’s dawn, so it means we’ve been driving for hours, about six if my calculations is right. Six hours in what direction? Goddamn myself for fallin’ asleep. Felt a needle prick at the back of my neck just before we took off, and then it was goodnight Charlie. But Nessa don’t look tired. Maybe a bit red-rimmed ’round the eyes, but she’s got enough hate to keep her truckin’ for miles.
Her head snaps my way as she senses I’m conscious.
“Where you takin’ me?” I ask, my voice gone gravely.
“You’re awfully demanding for someone in handcuffs,” she says with a wink in her voice. She looks over at me and smiles. “We
’ll be home soon enough.”
“Home?” I ask, sittin’ up. The landscape is bare dirt, scrub, and busted-up buildings, just like every other highway and byway I been on. “Home’s back with Riley.”
At the mention of Riley’s name, Nessa’s smile falls. “That girl—”
“That girl best be fine the next time I see her.” My blood simmers. I slam my chest against the seatbelt. “Where’d you take her?”
“She’s out of the way,” Nessa says, her voice flat and her eyes on the road.
“You hurt her and I kill you.” I lock eyes with my mother. I don’t give a rat’s damn that she gave birth to me. She left me when I was days old and never came back. I would end her with my bare hands if it meant Riley could live.
“Clay”—she says, honeyin’ her voice—“I own you.”
As her words slink over me, my anger flares, but I keep my eyes on hers. “A snake charmer thinks he owns his rattler, too.”
She snorts, dismissin’ me. When she looks away, I mark every landscape and every noise. A slanted, sun-faded road sign reads Gibson Blvd SE. I’m not familiar with that road, nor any after it. I figured she’d ship us to Albuquerque and her precious hospital. But we woulda been to Albuquerque by now. The roads here are clotted with dead houses, all broken and sucking in sand like open mouths. Piles of brick and terracotta have fallen onto the two-lane road. This was a family-friendly suburb before the population took a dirt nap. I see rusted tricycles and faded plastic play structures tipped over in dry back yards. An old dog leash, frayed and dry, lies across a sand-covered sidewalk. When food got scarce, dogs were one of the first animals to go. I heard they was so tame you could call ’em over and slit their throats easy. Nasty stuff. I look away from the dog leash and try to stamp down the anger that’s buildin’ inside me. Anger’ll make you fool-headed.
The houses space out and then fall away and more scrub takes its place. The few Jeeps that was with us when she picked me up in town are gone. It’s just me and her on the open road. I like them odds.
“Where’s your entourage?” I ask, tuggin’ on my cuffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be forcin’ girls to pop out babies at the hospital?”
She purses her lips, lookin’ uncomfortable with my question. “Things there became…” She clears her throat. “Things became complicated at the hospital. Dr. Bashees…” She shakes her head and continues. “They just don’t understand what I’m trying to do. So they gave me some leave and time to do some experimentation. And I thought, ‘What better time to reconnect with my son?’ We’ll be able to get so much closer.”
Her voice makes my skin crawl. “The minute I get the chance I’m gone. You think you can keep me?”
Nessa smiles like she anticipated this. “Check the back seat.”
Slowly I turn and peer in. At first, I see nothing but an old blanket, but then I notice tufts of brown hair blowin’ in the wind. Ethan. I whip around.
“From everything I hear, you seem to think this Ethan boy is your brother Cole reincarnated. But Cole’s died on your watch, right?”
Cole. Just the sound of my brother’s name snaps me back to that day. The pain of it. “Stop.”
“Did he die in your arms?” she asks, fixin’ me with a look as she lets up on the gas pedal.
“Stop talking ’bout him.” My teeth are clenched, my hands fisted.
She shrugs, looking like a cat that’s tired of toyin’ with a mouse. “Try to escape and I’ll think of something particularly awful to do to that boy. I have a very vivid imagination.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. Having Ethan here changes things. At least he’s safe. But Riley? I burn with the sorrow of lettin’ her through my fingers. I promised never to leave her, and here I am without her. I got us into this mess. She trusted me, and I let her down.
“We’re here.” She cruises up to a gated entrance and brakes.
My head snaps up. We approach a high brick wall. The entrance is blocked by a metal gate. U.S. Air Force and below that Kirtland Air Force Base beside two large silver wings. An air force base? What the hell are we doin’ here?
She pulls the Jeep up to a guard station as a man in black cargo pants and a black T-shirt steps out holdin’ an automatic assault rifle. You don’t see guns like that out on the roads anymore. You can’t find bullets for ’em, so they’re useless ’cept for chucking at rats or propping a door open. Seein’ his makes my hands itch for my revolvers.
Nessa smiles as she greets the young guard. “Dr. Nessa Vandewater and her…guest, Clay Tate.”
“Why’s he in cuffs?” the baby-faced guard asks.
Nessa brushes a lock of hair back from her forehead like a class-A flirt. “Oh, him?” She looks over at me. “He’s being a bad boy.”
The guard frowns, leanin’ over Nessa to look at me. He’s well-fed with most of his teeth and a decent, buzz cut. What’s the end game here? Nessa don’t need no more fire power. The Breeders got everybody on their knees as it is.
“I have clearance,” Nessa finally says, the humor out of her voice. “General Nadir gave it to me himself.”
The guard squints at the piece of paper she holds up, nods and steps out of the way. Nessa waves and drives into the Air Force base.
I feel goddamned sick to my stomach.
We drive past lawns that used to be green and trees that used to spread shade. Now their dead, skeletal limbs are another reminder of the land gone to rot. But the sidewalks are cleared and the buildings seem in good repair. We pass a training field where young men in sand-colored outfits are drillin’ with rifles. A Jeep buzzes past with military men at the wheel. All of this is making my blood crawl. I thought all Nessa had up her sleeve was a handful of guards with guns back at the hospital. This…this is something completely different.
She turns right. I catch a couple of signs—Wherry Elementary School and AFB Fitness Center. The elementary’s boarded up, but the fitness center looks open with more soldiers inside. Where are all these men comin’ from? Better yet, what the hell does my mother plan on doin’ with ’em?
She pulls the Jeep up to the curb of a nondescript building with fresh white paint and new windows. There’s no signs out front, nor any markings of any kind.
“Get out.” She unbuckles herself and reaches for me. When she leans over my body, I recoil. She smells like dead roses. Sensin’ me tense up, she turns, her face inches from mine. Laugh lines crease her forehead and crow’s feet sit at the corners of her blue eyes. She’s always seemed so ageless, probably because everyone else, out in the dust, ages early and often. But up close, I can tell time’s wagin’ its own war with her. It’s uncanny, too, seein’ my eyes in her face.
“You still remind me so much of your father.”
“You let him die,” I whisper, watchin’ her face for a reaction.
Her lips creep up into that dangerous smile again. “You’re the one who shot him.”
I flick my eyes away, not wantin’ to remember. Somehow in the span of an hour she’s managed to dig her fingernails into all of my open wounds and given a good ol’ tug.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
She purses her mouth. “You’ll never understand a mother’s love for her child.”
I snort. “Ain’t nothin’ about this have to do with love. This is about control.” I narrow my eyes. “You can’t stand that I don’t wanna be with you. And if you can’t have me, no one can.”
“Hmm,” she says, tappin’ a red fingernail on her chin. “You got me figured out, baby boy? Know all of Mommy’s tricks now, do you?”
She’s toyin’ with me again, and it makes me want to hit her. I glare out across the field and watch a set of soldiers jog around a track. With one fingernail, she turns my head back toward hers.
“You never gave me a chance back at the hospital.” She sighs and stares out the windshield. “I do really want to be your mother.”
“So, you do that by kidnappin’ me and beatin’ up my girlfriend?
If you wanna build a relationship, you can start by tellin’ me where in the seven hells Riley is.”
“You talk just like your father. All ‘goddamnit’ this and ‘seven hells’ that.” She smiles, tryin’ to be light.
“Don’t change the subject.”
My mother runs her nails through her hair. “I don’t want to talk about Riley.”
“Then what’re we doin’ here?” I ask.
“This is my new research facility. I’m working on some…pressing new projects. The Breeders think I’m vital here which means you’re vital here.” She smiles like she’s doin’ me a favor.
“I don’t wanna be vital here. I want you to let me go.”
I wait for a reply, but she’s staring at my injured hand. She trails a nail over my palm and I pull away as much as the seatbelt will allow.
“Did we do that to you?” she asks, touching the hole in my hand.
The puckered dimple of twisted, red scar tissue on the back of my hand is ugly. I turn my eyes away and swallow hard. “Courtesy of your guards. They tried to kill me.” I clench my jaw. “They failed.”
Nessa laughs explosively, making’ me jump. “That’s my boy. Hot shit, coming through,” she says to the empty parking lot. Then she bounds out of the Jeep, rummages around in the back, and walks over to my door. When she opens it, there’s a gun in her hand.
“If I’m transporting hot shit, I’ve got to protect myself,” she says with a smirk. She motions for me to get out of the Jeep.
“What about Ethan?” I ask, glancin’ behind me.
“He’ll be fine.”
“It’s eighty degrees.” I squint up at the rising sun. “The Jeep don’t got no top on it. He’ll fry.”
She frowns. “You’re wasting time. I hate wasting time. Move.”
When I don’t budge, Nessa waves a guard over and he drags my ass out of the Jeep, up stone steps, and through the open glass doors. Inside it’s cool and dark and completely silent. The hallways are tile. The walls are white and plain.
“Forward,” she says.
I walk, my eyes dartin’ ‘round. There’s nothing here. Empty rooms echo with our footsteps. My heart pounds harder into my throat.